


The Circumference of Comfort

by zulu



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, Female Protagonist, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-27
Updated: 2010-10-27
Packaged: 2017-10-13 12:45:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/137507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zulu/pseuds/zulu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"In moments of great stress, every life form that exists gives out a tiny sublimal signal. This signal simply communicates an exact and almost pathetic sense of how far that being is from the place of his birth." --Douglas Adams, <i>The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Circumference of Comfort

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tellitslant](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=tellitslant).



Amy never knew what _frozen in terror_ meant until this moment.

It's over. For now. She turned off the angel, caught it on the blip and turned it off, it's _over_. And suddenly _not_ being in terrible danger has let her feel exactly how frightened she was. Fear fills every artery, every vein. Her heart's beating so fast it's like a tiny animal trying to leap out of her chest. She feels like a rabbit too terrified to run, every muscle fibre locked into place, eyes impossibly wide. _It came out of the screen, it came out of the screen_ repeats in her mind as if saying it often enough will finally trip some switch in which she forgets, or realizes how it couldn't possibly have been real.

"River!" the Doctor shouts, one hand waving in their direction. "Hug Amy!"

Even through her ridiculous physical reaction to near-death, Amy can see something highly personal in River's assessing glance. Almost as if she knows her, although they only met minutes ago. "Why?" River asks.

"Because she's terrified! And I'm busy."

Whatever's left of Amy's sense of humour reminds her of its existence then. Of course the Doctor would delegate even comfort. She tries to smile at River, already getting a handle on herself. River smiles back, shakes her head, and grabs Amy's hand. Amy returns the tight squeeze automatically, but before she's even noticed how smooth River's skin is, River has already crossed the room to consult the Doctor, and the hunt for the angel is on again.

***

There are plenty of things to think about after that--how to walk like she can see, what it means that there are cracks in the skin of the universe, whether River really is the Doctor's wife and if she takes her vows at all seriously--so Amy would have forgotten the moment entirely if it hadn't happened _again_.

Time is a funny thing, difficult to keep track of even when Amy isn't travelling through it, but it can't be that many days (or weeks?) later that River shows up again, just on time to lead all three of them into a trap.

"River! Amy needs a hug!" the Doctor shouts, from halfway underneath the planet-killing bomb he's been frantically...screwdrivering, for the past five minutes, all to no effect on the insidious countdown chanting all around them in some grating alien language.

River raises her eyebrows, but on her next pass to attach yet another pointless gizmo to the metal surface of the bomb, she smiles at Amy and draws her into a hug. A very close hug. The kind of hug that distracts Amy from her fear not because it's comforting, but because she's wondering what kind of comfort is on River's mind, exactly. Amy draws in a breath and starts to hug back, which is of course when the Doctor shouts, "River!" and she's gone.

"Ah, excuse me?" Amy asks of River's...spectacular rear end, oh dear God, as she contorts herself to stick her head halfway under the sparking, electricity-spitting console. Her hands were in very near proximity to said rear end moments ago. But not quite as close as River's hands were to _hers_. "What was that?"

"What was what?" River asks, even as she's staring down at her hand-held device that doesn't seem to be saying a single good thing.

"That was--" Amy raises her hands in a cupping motion, illustrating wrongness (she's reasonably certain it was wrongness), but River's not paying attention. She's focused entirely on stopping the imminent explosion. Which, before anyone tries to point out how inappropriate a time this is, Amy realizes and appreciates. Although it seems that both River and the Doctor are reeling in exhaustion with each new, futile attempt on the jagged metal box that's crunching the numbers on their approaching death.

Maybe hugs truly do clear Amy's mind, or maybe she's just been standing around in shock long enough to notice, but she is feeling quite well--fine in fact--while the Doctor and River are starting to stumble over their own feet and mumble their words, as if the louder the bomb buzzes with power, the more drained they're getting. "Oy!" Amy says. "Stop it!"

They don't, of course, and Amy has to rush in to yank them back, which gets her into a three-way struggle that tires her out more than it possibly should. "Shut up!" she shouts, or tries to, and instead nearly yawns. "You two need to be much boringer, much faster," she tells them. "It's--it's only exploding because we're trying to stop it--"

The Doctor's eyes widen. "All this time--"

"You're wearing yourselves out," Amy tells them. "Like rats in a maze. It's hungry for _excitement_ , that's what..."

It's too tiring to talk after that, but when everybody stops what they're doing to stare at her in disbelief (boring disbelief, Amy might point out, too boring for alien bombs to feed off of), suddenly the countdown drew to a ragged close, the sparks stop leaping out to singe her skin, and the dramatic swell of music that she imagines plays in the Doctor's head all the time segues into a baffled but earnestly appreciative clarinet solo.

River's smile is really far too knowing for someone Amy has only met twice. And River doesn't even remember the last time. "What made you think of that?"

"I wasn't doing anything, and I wasn't falling over every time I tried to talk," Amy says, and carefully doesn't mention that she was having a transcendent experience staring at River's arse at the time.

"Well," River says, in a tone so intimate it turns that one word into a flood of compliments, several of them too personal to repeat in polite company. She exchanges a glance with the Doctor. "I see there's still a lot to learn about you."

***

Logically, that means River has _already_ learned something about her. Several somethings! Enough somethings that she doesn't think twice about sliding her hands over Amy's bottom when she's comforting her with a hug.

Amy pesters the Doctor with questions about River for the second time, and for the second time he shakes his head and answers either with distractions or comments about the ineffability of time. Exasperated, Amy throws her head back and shouts, "I hate hate hate the ineffability of time."

The Doctor pats her on the back of her hand and says, "Yes, yes, Amy Pond, as human as human can be."

"What does that mean?" she demands. She knows she's pouting, but she's also trying to figure out why the Doctor's pat-pat there-there routine feels like it came from her ancienter than ancient great-uncle while at the same time she wants so much more from him. Meanwhile, on the other end of the spectrum, River's hug left her half-stunned and really too turned on for a life-or-death situation. Even if it ended up tipping the whole situation over to the life side of the equation.

With a smile, the Doctor offers to take her to a beach planet. Amy really can't hold on to her anger when what she really wants to do is to jump up and down and squeal with excitement. Which she does. And ends up forgetting about River for a week.

When she remembers, it's with a moping sigh. The problem is that the Doctor doesn't _see_ her. Oh, he sees Amelia, he sees the fairy tale, and she's certain he loves her in his way. But he doesn't see Amy Pond. He treats her like she's still that seven-year-old little girl.

Which, Amy admits to herself, disgruntled, makes sense from the perspective of a 907 year old alien Time Lord.

That doesn't make it any less annoying.

Once, just to see, Amy tries putting herself in harm's way--a little "we survived!" glee sometimes helps when a bloke's being particularly dense. But a little peril, around the Doctor, turns into "in danger of having her soul sucked out through her toenails" more often than not, and Amy may be more than a little frustrated and more than a little lonely, but even she has limits to how she'll go about getting her needs met.

***

She never quite gets the hang of River knowing _less_ about her every time they meet. Last week's and last month's adventures are erased. But there still comes a moment when Amy's off her head in fear, when the Doctor is waving around his screwdriver like it's an epee and a cross both in one, when it seems like they're all going to slide arse-first into a quantum singularity, and the Doctor urges River forward into the breach. In a manner of speaking.

He knows Amy's afraid, but the fear never touches himself. He does seem to understand that she needs something, and at this point Amy is ready to believe that River will be better at delivering it. When the Doctor's too busy saving the universe to notice her and orders River to take his place, Amy doesn't hesitate. She launches herself into River's arms and holds her as tight as she knows how, burying her face against River's neck. She half-hears River's self-satisfied hum, and then River's fingers have rather cleverly found the gap between Amy's jumper and her skirt. River touches her spine with the slow, sensuous ease of long, long, when-the-hell-did-it-take-place practice, and once again Amy's too hot and bothered to worry about life as they know it ending everywhere throughout time. Or whatever the Doctor's on about now.

Terrified or not, Amy's hardly clingy, and she rarely needs to be rescued--so undignified--so she pulls back from the hug almost as soon as she started it. She gives River a nod, as if they both know that the hug was a simple tool to restore her back to scared out of her wits instead of paralyzed with horror.

River's face softens, and a small, mischievous smile curves her lips, but she doesn't ask. There's no time to ask, but Amy can imagine River murmuring _spoilers_ to herself.

***

Amy's still not certain if she wants to get married. Twenty-three parsecs' distance and several thousand years of time both forward and back haven't given her the perspective she'd hoped for. She loves Rory, she knows that, but love without adventure, love in Leadworth, can't possibly compare with what she has now.

Except what she has now is the Doctor leaping about the control room, capering from switch to lever to steering wheel and back again. He's babbling about the marvels of Rtertaly, a planet that hasn't figured out oxygen yet, but has a variety of sulphur-loving bacteria who are going to develop into a sentient if solipsistic civilization in sixty centuries' time.

In the middle of trying to get thrilled over unicellular life and failing, Amy realizes how much she misses _touching_. Rory would always hold her hand when they were out shopping, or tug her close on the couch when they were watching X-Factor. Rory was _there_ , solidly, warmly there, in a way the Doctor isn't. It's the same with River, who may be from the fifty-first century but who's still so clearly human. Amy felt alive in River's arms, and just a little less like the Doctor's adorable pet species. Even though she knows he likes her, really. But it's simply not the same. As much as Amy wouldn't give up the TARDIS for the world (for any of the worlds), she's beginning to think she'd sacrifice more than is probably healthy for another of River's hugs.

Or more. Amy could really, really do with some _more_ in her life.

***

The next time River launches herself into their lives, there's barely time for introductions. They're on the trail of a deadlier-than-usual alien species, of course. If this time goes like the others, they're likely to turn from hunters to huntees very, very quickly, at any moment at all. While the Doctor paces and mutters random snatches of questions and deductions to himself, Amy realizes that she's _not_ shaking with fear. Maybe she's gotten used to the terror. Maybe her adrenaline glands have been galloping so hard to keep up with their adventures that they've run out. Or maybe she's standing next to River, who's calmly watching the Doctor with a fond smile on her face.

"Doctor!" Amy shouts, knowing that calling his name just once won't be enough to break his concentration. She's proved right when he waves her off.

"Shush, shush, I'm thinking. They came from beyond chaos, but somebody somewhere must have _caused_ the chaos. Incantations? Yes, of course..."

"Doctor," Amy says again. "Don't you think you should be offering some _comfort_? To your terrified friends?"

"Yes, yes," he says. "River, you take care of that, don't you?"

With a stomp of her foot, Amy turns to River and grabs her hand. "Are you terrified?" she demands, feeling very annoyed indeed.

"Petrified," River says, in a voice like honey.

"That's what I thought," Amy says, and kisses her.

***

River _clearly_ knows what she's doing. The groping, the exploring fingers, Amy could have written those off as accidents, and maybe River is just a very forward, friendly person. All the evidence certainly points that way. But the kiss-- _no_ body, not even Dr. River Song, knows how to kiss someone like this if it's the first time. There's no way she could know that Amy likes having her lip sucked just that hard, that she loves to dive into a kiss like it's something to live as fully as possible, that she wants to be held as closely as River is holding her now.

"You've done that before!" she gasps when she pulls free.

"Always," River says. Her voice doesn't give away a thing, except that she's enjoying herself and she's very, very pleased with the fact that Amy is too. "Haven't you?"

"No, I--" But there's no point explaining. "World ending," Amy says in explanation, and kisses River again. She wants to be just as good, to learn what River likes, and if the Doctor has to pause in his pacing to walk around them, that's as much as it bothers him to have two women making out in the control room of the TARDIS.

"Of course!" he shouts, and Amy groans in frustration. She knows the sound of his breakthroughs, and right now all it means is that she has to stop kissing River to pay attention.

So it turns out that humans have been reciting the Necronomicon to the Old Ones somewhere near R'lyeh, and Amy spends the time planning the mission to destroy the tome mentally bashing her head against a wall. River ends up distracting three guards while Amy lures away the other two. When the space station is clear of humans, the Doctor explodes the oxygen supply. Amy's feeling rather like a piece of overdone toast by the time she gets back on board the TARDIS.

Only to discover that River has already disappeared.

"Oh, she had better be back," Amy mutters, already knowing she will be. She has to have learned about Amy somewhen, and Amy intends to be there when she does.

She barely remembers being frightened at all.

***

"Hello, sweetie," River says when she appears again.

Astonishingly, no one is chasing them, nothing is exploding, and the universe isn't in danger of collapsing upon itself in a snit. The Doctor smiles genially, rocking from heels to toes, and drumming his hands on the TARDIS console in front of him. Amy takes one look at both of them, narrows her eyes, and marches over to River. "Doctor," she says, "River and I need to talk. You don't need us, do you?"

"Hm?" he says. "Oh, yes. That is, no. As you like. We'll be arriving in ten hours."

Amy doesn't slow her march for a second until she's led the way into her own room, with her own door. Once it's closed, River leans back against it with a knowing smirk on her face. "Something you wanted to share, Amy?"

"No," Amy says. There is really no sensible way to ask exactly when in her future they actually...did whatever they did. She reverses herself and says, "Yes. Only..."

River's smile widens by a fraction. "Something I shouldn't know?"

Maybe she should wait until they're dangling over the edge of precipice. It's a simpler plan, at least. Amy huffs and crosses her arms. It's very difficult not to know there is a bed not two meters behind her. "I know this might come as a surprise..."

"Oh, I very much doubt that," River says. She steps away from the door, slinking forward. When she's standing directly in front of Amy, she wraps her arms around her, arching one delicate eyebrow. "Are you terrified?" she asks.

"You know!" Amy accuses her, her eyes widening, so surprised that River's breaking her own spoilers rule that she doesn't bother denying it. Butterflies aren't the same as terrified, but kissing River is scary in ways all its own, that have nothing to do with near-death experiences. "You know already!"

River laughs lightly. "I assume this is your first time?"

There are so many possible responses to that question that Amy finds herself stuttering and stumbling to a stop long before she meant to. She has kissed girls before (she's kissed _River_ before), but she hasn't done nearly as much as River's smile implicitly promises.

"Oh, I am going to enjoy this very much indeed," River says, and this time, she's the one who kisses Amy first.

In case the message hadn't been clear, Amy immediately knows they're still a good way out from whatever point of equilibrium they're going to reach, when River knows as little about her as she does about River. River's touch is knowing, soft, and very, very good. Amy gives in with a moan and closes her eyes. If she didn't want this, she could have said so in the future.

That makes no sense, but Amy kisses River back anyway. River isn't waiting around for Amy to catch up, which is as well, since Amy's mind is leaping ahead to how to get them both out of their clothes, and just how many steps backwards she'll have to take before she falls over her own bed, and whether River will like all the different things Amy wants to do to her.

There's no way to know but try. And the bed is actually closer than she thought. They fall down unceremoniously and at least it manages not to be a complete embarrassment. River groans throatily when Amy's leg falls between hers, and presses up, easily and insistently following her own desires. Amy kisses and kisses until she feels dizzy on them, and she gets the hang of what River likes rather quickly, if she does say so herself. They sprawl sideways, River's smile gleaming when she lifts her head. The pure amused enjoyment in her eyes feels like a challenge, and Amy has never backed down from a challenge.

"Right, then!" she says. "Off with the kit!"

River has clothes that melt apart at the seams when she closes her eyes and arches off the bed. Amy stares in astonishment, and has to rush to pull her jumper over her head and pull off her skirt. It's certainly not fair, not fair at all, to feel the blood rushing to her face (and other areas) while River watches her, serene and knowing and beautiful.

"Lovely," River says, reaching out a hand to her. Amy takes it, and joins her on the bed. It's suddenly very warm, and very wriggly. Oh, God. She doesn't know what to _do_ , and even though River does, they're both left trying to arrange their bodies to fit.

It's not long before they do. Before River is kissing her everywhere. Before Amy is pushily insisting on returning the favour. River's pleasure is amazing to see, as if it's all been pent up, but now that they're alone and naked, she'll let herself enjoy every movement, every touch, like it's an astonishing gift.

Amy can't disagree that that's what it feels like, when River sucks her nipple and works her finger between Amy's legs at the same time. She has a feeling that she's gotten louder than she ever has been before, even with Rory. That only proves that Rory will need more instruction, which Amy will be happy to provide, when she isn't flying through space. For now, for this moment, she doesn't even mean literally.

It takes longer to figure out what will please River the most. But Amy has never minded learning something new, and she loves the chance to explore. River is an excellent teacher, and soon, she's crying out, and Amy holds her tight and close and lets River's shudders pass through her as well.

River isn't finished afterwards, either. She spends time kissing Amy's eyelids, the corners of her mouth, the notch above her collarbones. Amy sighs happily, before kissing River back, taking more lessons in exactly what makes River moan. It lasts, very nicely, and Amy feels herself healing somehow, like a massage finally easing knots of tension she'd been carrying for so long she didn't even know they were there. River's kisses soothe her like the press of her hand always had, and Amy sighs and lets go. Of being terrified, of being on an adventure bigger than she is, of missing the touch of human skin, warm against hers.

"Is this the last time?" River asks her, when they're lying together and the lights have dimmed considerately.

"Spoilers?" Amy offers weakly, but finds her throat tightening at the thought that for River, they'll never have this again. It's hard enough to imagine that in the future, she'll be with River again, and that at some point after that, she never will again.

River kisses her softly. "Then we must make the most of it, mustn't we?"

And they do.

***

Amy knows she'll have to tell Rory. She wants him to understand, not just her Raggedy Doctor, but what it really feels like to be so far from Earth. There's something lonely about it, underneath the excitement and the fear. That's not an excuse, she knows better than that. Especially since her time's trajectory means that she'll be with River again.

When Amy gets home Rory will be waiting. She'll reach out to him the same way, because she loves him, and because when she's frozen in terror, she wants _him_ to stand beside her, to be scared the same way she can be scared. She wants to be alive with him the same way she was with River. Maybe if she explains that way he'll understand.

Because there's a whole universe around them, and it's too much to feel alone.


End file.
